


laments

by weatheredlaw



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Body Horror, Multi, Platonic Romance, Red Lyrium, Redemption
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-20
Updated: 2016-01-13
Packaged: 2018-05-02 14:06:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5250989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weatheredlaw/pseuds/weatheredlaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes the right choice is not so easy to make. Sometimes it doesn't get made at all. Sometimes even Seekers wind up on the wrong side of the war.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. to pardon, and be loved - evelyn

**Author's Note:**

> i don't even have excuses for this shit anymore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They say Corypheus’s lieutenant is a fiery thing, who kills without mercy and makes the choices no one else can. And Evelyn doesn’t doubt these things to be true. She doesn’t doubt that the woman has murdered and slaughtered and set fire to the world under her feet.
> 
> But she likes cakes and reads terrible romances, and if there is still love in her, then Evelyn will find a way to draw it out.

They say Corypheus’s lieutenant is a woman without compare. They say she doesn’t need the red lyrium to strike fear in the hearts of her men. They say she doesn’t waver, doesn’t flinch when a battle is lost. They say she gave her brethren to the magister to keep them alive. They say when she fights, her sword is aflame, and the field is awash in blood and fire after she has emerged victorious.

They say Corypheus’s lieutenant used to be the Right Hand of the Divine, and she gave him the Seekers to keep her Order from crumbling.

They say all this, hands trembling, hearts beating madly in their chest, because she is sitting in a cell below Skyhold, awaiting judgment.

 

* * *

 

Leliana had told her,  _She was my friend, once. She betrayed her conscience, and she did not do it lightly. She was my friend, once. But she is something else now._

Evelyn clenches her fists, and gives the word for the prisoner to be brought up from below the keep. The hall is crowded, her inner circle gathered against the fire by Varric’s usual place. He was there, when they took her, with Bull and Dorian. Evelyn had warned them that it would be a hard battle, and honestly the woman had almost killed them all. It had been luck, she thinks, that a bolt from Bianca struck the woman’s shoulder, that Bull found his second wind and threw her to the ground, and Dorian froze her hands and feet to the earth beneath her.

She had screamed, one last cry pulsing out. She had writhed and fought her frozen chains, and Evelyn almost pitied her.

They bring her up now, the steel bonds wrapped around her wrist just as cold and heavy as those she wore before. She is so _thin_ , so gaunt and bruised. Evelyn swallows, not quite sure what to do, or say.

“I knew her, once,” Cullen had said that morning. “She was a fine woman, a warrior like no other.” He had paused, closing his eyes. “Do what you will with her, it is ultimately up to you, but…” He had looked up, and Evelyn had seen the dark circles under his eyes, saw the world he now had to accept as reality. “The Templars suffer because of her. Her Seekers suffer because of her. She doesn’t deserve _death_. She deserves agony.”

Evelyn closes her eyes, hearing the words of her advisors clearly. They stand behind her, while Josephine timidly announces the charges.

“Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast, lieutenant to Corypheus. She has been formally charged with treason to the Divine, but many of her crimes are unlisted. Orlais would like to see her hanged, officially, but will concede to your judgment.” Josephine looks uneasy, shifting on her feet, refusing to look at the former Seeker.

Evelyn leans forward, contemplating the woman. Her gaze remains fixed on the Free Marches banner behind the throne, and there isn’t a part of her that even _trembles_ when she speaks.

“Seeker Pentaghast—”

“I am not a Seeker anymore.”

“No,” Evelyn says. “Your Order is dead.”

“I am aware.”

“They’re dead because you gave them to Corypheus.”

The Seeker finally looks at Evelyn, and in her eyes is _fire._

“They are dead because your men killed them. But I will concede your point.” She raises up higher. “If I had left them, the Lord Seeker would have sold them one by one to Corypheus, forced them to use the lyrium, if only to see if it _worked._ ” She spits the words, fury evident in her voice. “I saved them from torture. I was rewarded for my strength.”

“You betrayed the Divine to follow a false god.”

“I am aware of what he is. The Maker is truth, Corypheus is a lie.”

Evelyn frowns. “Then…then why? Why would you give your Order to him? Why would you give him your loyalty, and your strength?”

Cassandra _laughs_ , and the sound makes Evelyn ache.

“I know your family,” she says. “I learned of them, when I heard what had happened at the Conclave. That the Divine perished, and _you,_ the youngest daughter of a paltry noble family, had lived in her stead. _Trevelyan._ ” She scowls. “You are a warrior, like your father and brothers. Would you prefer to have died in chains, poisoned and _used_? Or would you die a soldier? Die with a blade in your hand, your sigil across your chest?” She shakes her head. “Judge me how you will. It matters not. My Order was doomed from the very start, and I knew this. Lucius didn’t. It is why he was removed, why I was chosen in his place.

“Because I have to strength to do what needs to be done, and live with the consequences.”

 

* * *

 

Evelyn can’t bring herself to end the Seeker’s life. She decides to keep her at Skyhold, to get information and knowledge, to find out what really happened.

She is still a warrior, Evelyn reasons, and could be useful. And she can’t read Leliana’s expression – it is stone, unmoving when Evelyn tries and fails to really explain herself. Josephine reasons that it’s the best choice, that Cassandra could have plans and knowledge of future attack and troop movements.

“Corypheus knows by now we have her,” Cullen snaps. “Anything she knows is _useless_ to us now. I say give her to Orlais.”

“To the Chantry?” Leliana says. “So that they may gut and brand her? Perhaps Josephine and the Inquisitor are right…perhaps it is best to keep her here, for now.”

“To be gutted and branded by the Chantry would be _tame_ compared to what she deserves!”

“Your order was not betrayed by Cassandra,” Leliana says coolly. “His general is still at large.”

“And we are _dealing_ with Samson,” Cullen says.

Josephine sighs. “Perhaps she knows about him. If we question her, she could provide valuable information on his whereabouts, or the red lyrium armor.”

Evelyn shakes her head. “I am not going back on my decision. She will stay here, and you will _behave_ , Commander. Do you understand me?”

Cullen seethes, drawing back from the other women.

“Fine,” he says. “But know that she cannot be trusted. She is a traitor to her own Order. She can say whatever she’d like about loving the Maker, but she chose Corypheus.” He shakes his head. “Always remember that, Inquisitor.”

 

* * *

 

Despite the discussion, Evelyn doesn’t have time to go to the Seeker after her judgment. Bull needs help on the coast, and there’s the fallout of that to deal with.

On top of it all, she is still struggling with her heart, with Blackwall’s lies, with this man she wonders if she should call _Thom._

He gives her the space she needs, and in the dead of night Evelyn thinks that she has not seen the Seeker in some time, and wonders if her warning to Cullen has gone unheeded.

She sends for the woman in the morning, bringing her up to her room, breakfast spread across a table on the balcony. Evelyn isn’t quite sure why she feels the need to comfort, but Cassandra touches nothing, and says nothing, while Evelyn awkwardly shoves muffins in her mouth.

She sends the Seeker back to her cell, and wonders.

 

* * *

 

“What did you find?”

“We…we think it’s the prisoner’s things,” Harding says. They bend down and sift through a bag. It is sparse, but giving it to Leliana later that day proves that it’s Cassandra’s. She holds a prayer book in her hands, running her thumb over the cover.

“Justinia…gave this to her. _To my Seeker, on her nameday._ We were younger, then. All of us.”

Evelyn reaches into the bag and pulls out a journal, the inside marked with words and symbols she doesn’t understand. “Is it a code?”

“Most likely. The Iron Bull may be able to do something with it. I recognize a word here in Tevine. _Blessed._ But that’s all.”

“We’ll give it to Bull and Dorian to look over. See what they can make of it.” Evelyn sighs, setting the journal aside and reaching into the bag again. She finds yet another book, this one completely unreadable. The cover has been worn away, and nothing but the words inside could tell her what it is. “This is…it’s a novel.”

Leliana looks up. “It’s…oh _Maker_ , Cassandra.” She smiles for the first time since they brought her the Seeker’s things. “This is…it’s _Swords and Shields_ ,” she murmurs.

“What’s that?”

“A romance serial. Cassandra adored romances, but this was her favorite.”

“Still is, apparently.”

Leliana frowns. The pages have been worn down, some torn at the corners. There is nothing decipherable about the front, but the back still retains a vague outline. The author’s portrait, though Evelyn can’t really see.

“This is one of Varric’s tales,” Leliana says quietly.

“ _What?_ ”

“She was quite the fan. She read all of his works, even the _Tale of the Champion_.”

Evelyn takes the book again, opening it to the first page.

 _Swords and Shields_  
Part Two  
by Varric Tethas

“Oh,” she says. “Maker, how many times has she read it?”

“When I knew her, she’d read it dozens of times already. Clearly she has not stopped.”

Evelyn nods, turning to one of the scouts. “Please deliver these books to the prisoner.” She hands him the novel and the prayer book. “And see if she will eat today.”

“She won’t,” Leliana says. “She is punishing herself. If I know Cassandra, she believes her capture was the Maker’s will. She will have no regrets, but that means little.”

Evelyn groans. “Then what do we do?”

“We start with the journal,” Leliana says. “We see what it tells us. In the meantime, I am sure she will appreciate the literature.”

 

* * *

 

When Evelyn goes to see the Seeker, the books are sitting in a corner, untouched.

“Maker, are you still coming down here?” Evelyn turns and sees Blackwall – _Thom_ , she thinks – standing at the bottom of the stairs. “She won’t speak to you.”

“No.” Cassandra doesn’t even move from her spot, staring past them. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s late. I thought you…I wanted to see you.”

She sighs, nodding and letting him lead her up the stairs. “Why does this hurt? Why do I want to know _more_ about her?”

“Because you’re a kind soul.” He puts his fingers under her chin. “You forgave me, love.”

“I did. But I…I love you. I don’t even _know_ this woman. Is this a character flaw? Something I should be aware of being moving forward? A soft spot for convicts and criminals?” Blackwall chuckles. “Mother would be beside herself.” She takes his hands in her own. “She _will_ be, when she finds out.”

“You intend to take me home?”

“When this is over? Of course. My brothers said I’d never find someone daft enough to love me.”

“I am quite daft.”

She smiles. “On the contrary,” she murmurs, and kisses him. “I find you to be quite clever.”

 

* * *

 

When Evelyn comes to visit the Seeker later that week, she finds the books have moved, and someone has had three honey cakes brought to her cell.

They say Corypheus’s lieutenant is a fiery thing, who kills without mercy and makes the choices no one else can. And Evelyn doesn’t doubt these things to be true. She doesn’t doubt that the woman has murdered and slaughtered and set fire to the world under her feet.

But she likes cakes and reads terrible romances, and if there is still _love_ in her, then Evelyn will find a way to draw it out.

She has had some practice, after all.


	2. to defy expectations - varric

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric chokes. “I would never have done what you did.”
> 
> The Seeker looks at him. “Yes,” she says quietly. “I am sure it makes you feel better to think you would not.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i guess this train is still going

It is in Varric’s nature to take his time – time to line up the perfect shot, to craft the perfect response to a letter, to write the perfect novel. He can’t say he’s ever _done_ the last one, but no one, particularly his editor, could say he’s rushed things.

His spot in the hall of Skyhold is perfect, too. It gives him the best view, the best spot to hear things – it’s what happens when you spend years neglecting your other senses, allowing your hearing and sight to become fine-tuned. A perfect instrument. It’s why he hears the Inquisitor coming before he even looks up, though usual _click_ of her boots on the stone is slower today, dragging just a bit.

“Hey, Freckles.” He finishes the last line in his reply to Hawke and looks up. “Good morning?”

“It could be better.” Evelyn winces as she lowers herself into a seat across from him. “Still smarting from Adamant.”

“I think we all are,” Varric confesses. He’s got a bruise that’s roughly the size and shape of a full-grown nug on his lower back, and Hawke spent four paragraphs complaining about the headache she got from the Fade. “Something on your mind?”

“Yes,” she says. “And it has been, since we found Corypheus’s Lieutenant.”

Varric nods. He’d been there that day. Leliana’s scouts had finally tracked the woman and the last surviving Seekers to a keep just north of Crestwood. The fight had been long, and Varric had been almost certain that the four of them were going to be beaten by one woman. But he’d taken that time, that time he needed to line up the perfect shot. And he wouldn’t ever say it was him alone, because Bull and Dorian were there and if Bull hadn’t—

“Varric?”

“Hmm? Shit, sorry. Just—”

“I know.” Evelyn puts her hand over his. “There’s something I keep meaning to talk to you about, but you know how it is.”

“I do.” Varric turns his hand over, holds her own in his palm. “What’s on your mind?”

Evelyn sighs, glancing around the hall. It’s early, still, with not many people around. Their conversation is private enough, Varric thinks, but he opens his mouth to suggest the gardens, perhaps, or even the battlements –

“The Seeker is…a fan. Of your books.”

Varric blinks.

 _That_ …was not what he was expecting.

“Sorry,” Evelyn adds quickly.

“That woman…downstairs. The one who _sold_ her Order to Corypheus.”

“Yes.”

“The one who _almost killed us_.”

“That one.”

“She likes _Hard in Hightown?_ ”

Evelyn clears her throat. “Actually, she…she likes your romance serial best.”

Now _that_ makes Varric laugh. The few people in the hall do turn to look, and he just can’t help himself. Evelyn looks mortified, her cheeks going a pale, sickly color.

“Shit,” Varric says, trying to stop himself from laughing. “ _Shit_ , I’m sorry. You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“Varric, please, I need you to speak with her.”

“ _What?_ ”

Evelyn grabs both his hands in hers. “She won’t talk with me, and Leliana won’t do it, she’s…she’s _wounded_ , Varric. And I can’t send Cullen, he’s so angry. But we need to know about Samson, and we need to know so much.”

Varric shakes his head, pulling away. “What makes you think she’ll speak to me?”

“You wrote the books!”

“Yeah! And I’m _never_ writing another one. That series was shit and, apparently, its biggest fan is a _lunatic._ ”

“She isn’t,” Evelyn says. “She’s…she’s not.”

Varric scowls. “You want to see the good in everyone. You think all of us can be saved.”

“I believe that,” Evelyn says quietly.

“Just because _Blackwall_ —”

“Don’t.” Her voice becomes smaller, and her gaze falls. “Please, not you.”

Varric grits his teeth, closes his eyes. His feelings on the matter are complicated, his heart in two different places.

He _wants_ her to be right, right about them all. He wants her to be right about Blackwall, or Ranier. He wants her to be right about Alexius. He wants her to be right about the Seeker, sitting below Skyhold, starving herself, from what Varric understands.

He exhales.

“Alright,” he says. “I’ll talk with her.”

“Oh, _Varric._ ” Evelyn throws her arms around him. “I knew you would.”

“Yeah, I figured as much.”

“Thank you.” The Inquisitor smiles, standing and pressing a quick kiss to his forehead. “Let me know when you’ve done it. I’d like to know what she says.”

Varric sighs, leaning back in his chair and watching her walk away, wondering what makes her so confident the Seeker will even speak with him. He adds a quick addendum in his letter to Hawke.

                                _Remind me never to write another book again. Everyone who reads them turns out  
                                to be fucking crazy._

 

* * *

 

It takes him a few days to get down to the cells. Not really because he’s afraid of the woman – though he is, sort of. She had nearly killed the Iron Bull, and when she’d been frozen to the ground, she had looked like a demon herself, writhing and twisting, screaming and sobbing into the night air.

It had been a beautiful sky, when they brought her down. Stars spread over them, moon high and round in the sky.

He avoids Nightingale for some time, but she eventually corners him and presses a cloth napkin into his hands. Inside – three little cakes.

“Please, be gentle.”

“I—”

“I know what she is. I know what she’s done. I only…there is so much to say.”

“You should talk with her.”

“I can’t. Not yet. I’m worried what I might do. I need _time_. But you can speak with her. She will talk to you.” Leliana turns and goes, leaving Varric to wonder, again –

_Why is everyone so sure?_

 

* * *

 

He hates the smell of the place. It’s cold and wet, despite the fire that’s been lit. Varric nods to the guard at his post, taking a chair from one of the open cells and bringing it into front of the Seeker’s.

She is still, cast in shadow. There is bread on a tin plate, several days old he suspects. She hasn’t touched it.

“I brought you something,” Varric says. He takes the bread and tosses it over his shoulder, sliding the cakes onto the plate. “They’re from Night—” He pauses. “Sister Leliana.”

Nothing. Varric sighs.

“I hear you’re a fan of _Swords and Shields_ ,” he says.

Quiet, still.

“Well. This is productive.” He sits for another moment, then figures he should go upstairs and tell the Inquisitor that she was wrong, and should probably lower most, if not all, her expectations.

“You are the one who shot me,” the Seeker says, voice raspy in the dark.

Varric freezes. Then: “I got lucky.”

“ _Ugh._ ”

He moves his chair closer. “Don’t knock it. It’s how I made it this far.” She doesn’t respond, so Varric tries another tactic. “Are you going to eat these? Because I haven’t had lunch yet—”

She shifts in her cell, and Varric sees a dry, bony hand reach slowly for the plate, then take two of the cakes, leaving one. He nods. “Okay then.”

They sit together for a while, eating in silence. Varric asks the guard to bring more water, passes it through the bars. She takes it.

“You’re the only fan of my romance serial I’ve ever met.”

“I am sure this is a very exciting moment for you.”

“Oh, sure. It’s not every day you find out one of Corypheus’s right hands is actually _human._ ”

The air between them shifts, suddenly. Varric holds his breath.

“I am not human,” she says.

“No?”

“I have not been for some time.”

“Well, I suppose selling your soul will do that.”

Varric hears chains move, and suddenly her face is in the light of the dim torch.

It is gaunt and bruised. He remembers her from her judgment, but only from far away. Up close, she is…exactly as she said.

“Do you have family?” she asks.

“Yes.”

“Would you do anything for them?”

“I would.”

“Then perhaps in time, you will understand.”

Varric chokes. “I would never have done what you did.”

The Seeker looks at him. “Yes,” she says quietly. “I am sure it makes you feel better to think you would not.” She draws back into the shadows, and the conversation is over.

 

* * *

 

“Did you ask her about Samson?” Cullen says, crowding Varric in the war room. “Does she know where he is?”

“We didn’t have a _chat_ , Curly. She actually opened her mouth and spoke. Ate something. I think that’s victory enough for the week, don’t you?”

Leliana puts a hand on Cullen’s shoulder. “We must be patient.”

“We cannot _afford_ patience!”

Evelyn holds up her hands. “For the time being, we can. There’s no time for this right now,” she says. “We still have to deal with the Grey Wardens. We still have the Winter Palace before us. Perhaps she knows something about this.”

“Doubtful,” Cullen says. “Again. Corypheus will change his plans. She was important to him, anything she knows—”

“Enough.” Evelyn pinches the bridge of her nose. “We’re finished, for tonight. Varric, thank you for speaking with her. If…if you don’t mind. I’d like you to do it again.”

Varric swallows. He hadn’t enjoyed it, and those last moments had been aching.

But there was something, still. Something about her resignation, how she believed Varric was fooling himself.

“Alright,” he agrees. “I’ll do it again. In a few days, though. It’s…draining.”

“That’s fine,” Evelyn says quickly, before Cullen can argue. “We appreciate it.”

“Sure.” Varric sighs and turns to go, letting the door slam shut behind him. He hears Cullen’s immediate fury, but he’s too exhausted to listen now.

Bed, he thinks. He’ll go to bed.

 

* * *

 

When Varric finally manages to go down below the keep again, the Seeker is coughing. The fire’s gone out, and the soldiers are trying to stop the wind from blowing in.

“She can’t stay here,” Varric says, but the men look at him and shake their heads. It isn’t their job to move prisoners. Varric glances into her cell – he can hear the shivering, hear the chains rattling, the wet noises in her chest.

She’s going to die down here. And even if Varric thinks, in the lowest curves of his heart, that it would be more than merciful to allow it, he knows it would break the Inquisitor’s heart.

 _And she has a point_ , a nagging voice says in his ear, a voice that sounds an awful lot like Hawke, and maybe Rivaini.

Varric goes up the stairs, right into the war room where he knows they’re having a meeting, and says, “You need to move the Seeker.”

Cullen doesn’t even look up from his map. “Absolutely not.”

“Yes, _you do._ The walls down there have a hundred holes in them, and there’s a storm kicking up. She’s dying.”

Evelyn frowns. “I was told that requisition had been filled.”

Josephine bites her lip. “We…had to retract it. We needed the stone for the siege at Adamant. We could not afford—”

“It’s fine,” Evelyn says, raising a hand. “Do we have a place to move her? _Until_ the walls in the cells are fixed?” she adds, sensing Cullen’s rising anger.

“The holes in the roof over the guest wing have been patched, and the walls are in excellent shape,” Josephine says. “With enough posted guards, she would be as detained there as she would be below us.”

“I don’t like it,” Cullen says.

“Of course you don’t,” Varric snaps. “And I don’t like it very much myself, either. But if you want the information you’re begging me to get out of her, then she’d be a lot more talkative if she _lived_ , Curly.”

Cullen closes his eyes, contemplating the situation.

Varric wonders what he desires more – Samson’s location, or the death of the Seeker.

It must be hard, he thinks. It must be very hard.

They move her, though. Evelyn oversees the transfer, and has a healer come up to mix up a medicine for the cough. “And tea, if you can manage it.” She tosses an extra blanket onto the bed. “There we are. A bit sparse, but warmer than that cell, I take it.” The Seeker is silent as Varric watches her being chained by her ankle to the reinforced bedpost. “Well then. I’ll, um. I’ll leave you.” She goes, putting a hand on Varric shoulder as she does.

Varric, for his part, glances around the room and wonders if it’s too much.

“You find me undeserving,” the Seeker says, voice raspy.

“I don’t know what I think, honestly.” He sits in a chair, across the room from her. She has grown impossibly thinner – her tunic sags off her shoulders, revealing the bruises on her collarbone and neck. She is a dying tree, as the winter of war rages around her.

He clears his throat. “Where’s Samson?” he asks.

Her fingers curl into twin fists in her lap. A reaction. The first. Varric leans forward.

“Is he hiding?”

Her jaw clenches.

“I know you must be loyal to your Elder One, still—”

“You will not find him,” she whispers.

“We’re not looking for Corypheus.”

“Samson,” she corrects. “ _You will not find him._ ”

“If you help us, the Inquisitor would—”

The Seeker curls her body upwards, onto the small, hard bed, and turns to face the wall.

Varric stays for only a moment, to consider her back – the ridges of her spine jut out against the fabric, threatening to break through her skin.

He wants to promise they will find him, that they’ll hunt him down and Cullen will draw the blade against the man himself –

But he’s not quite sure whether it would be a threat to her, or a blessing in disguise.

 


	3. to remember what was - cassandra

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra looked at the Seekers making their camp and turned to Samson. “This was the wrong choice.”
> 
> “There are no right choices in this. We are what we are. You saved them from what Lucius was planning. I’d say you did some good.”
> 
> “You could say that, but you’d be wrong.”
> 
> “Matter of opinion, Seeker Pentaghast.”

Sometimes the Inquisitor comes to see her.  Cassandra wishes she wouldn’t. The girl sits on a chair in the room they have given her, and tries to convince her that she is salvageable. That what is happening here is a good thing. Cassandra doesn’t have the energy to call her a fool. She has no _right_ , now. Her heart beats weakly in her chest when the girl finally puts out the lights, has the guards lock the door behind her. She doesn’t know if the prison has been repaired, but she doubts that she will be returning to her cell.

Which is a pity.

She certainly deserves far less.

 

* * *

 

When rumors of the mage rebellion had sparked, Cassandra had not flown to the side of her Lord Seeker right away, though he asked her to. Instead, she stayed with Justinia, and asked how she might help.

“Protect your kind, Cassandra.”

Cassandra could only nod. Leliana promised to follow the leads. She promised to look for the Hero of Ferelden, for the Champion, for _anyone_ who might help them.

“Go to Kirkwall,” Cassandra said, and pressed _The Tale of the Champion_ into her friend’s hands. “Perhaps there will be answers there.”

“It should be _you_ ,” Leliana said. “You are far better at this than I.” A lie, of course. A final way to get her to stay.

Cassandra smiled. “I cannot. I must see that the Seekers are prepared. We must be ready for anything.”

 

* * *

 

The dwarf stops coming. This is good. Cassandra cannot bear the sight of his face, pained when he looks at her, as though working through something that she is not privy to. It is fine with her if he stays away. The Inquisitor is not as pleasant to listen to, but her voice is calming. She speaks of her childhood, sometimes. Of a brother back home.

“Do you have siblings?” she asks. Evelyn – her name is _Evelyn._

Cassandra has not answered a single question yet. She sees no point in answering now.

“Well. I only wondered.” Evelyn stands and sets the candle by the bed. “Good night, Cassandra.” She turns to go, and Cassandra feels the words well up in her throat without warning, spill forth without her permission.

“I had a brother, once.”

Evelyn turns. “You did.” Cassandra looks at her, and she nods. “Thank you for telling me that, Cassandra. Please, sleep well.” She does as she always does and shuts the door behind her. The bolt slides in place, and Cassandra puts out the candle with her fingers.

She no longer feels the burn.

 

* * *

 

She had to fight to gain the Lord Seeker’s attention, and when she finally had it, her heart told her something was awry. Finding red lyrium only proved her point. She took the case and dragged it to the Lord Seeker’s office, dropping it on his desk.

“ _Cassandra._ ”

“What is the meaning of this?”

He sighed, as though she were a _child._ As though she were a _pest._ She supposed, to him, she was.

“It is part of a plan, Seeker Pentaghast. A plan that does not concern you.”

“You intend to _give this_ to us? To make us into…into _monsters?_ You know what it does.”

“Actually, I don’t.” He stood, taking the crate from her and passing it off to his assistant. “But I am to discover that. The Seekers are entering into a…tentative alliance with a third party.”

“What of the Conclave?”

“I will not be attending.” He paused. “Neither will you.”

“I must. The Divine will be there, she will need—”

“The Divine has no need of our order, Cassandra. She is weak. As her protector for all these years, you should know that better than anyone.”

Cassandra frowned. “Who is this third party?”

“I suspect you should meet him soon. After the Conclave,” he said. “There will be time for formalities.”

 

* * *

 

Cassandra isn’t sure how long she has been at Skyhold, but it is several weeks before Leliana ascends the stairs to her room and sits in the Inquisitor’s customary chair.

They don’t speak to one another. Cassandra sits on the edge of her bed, staring at her chained feet, while Leliana watches her.

After a while, her old friend stands and leaves.

The door clicks shut – and it echoes all the things unsaid.

 

* * *

 

In the dark of the night, Cassandra found the Lord Seeker’s correspondence with a man called Samson.

_Should the Seekers prove to be resistant to the lyrium, I will not be offering their service to the Elder One. He will find them useless, I’m sure. The Order of Fiery Promise has made an excellent offer, if I can get them to Caer Oswin in small numbers. They will find a use for them, they say. Perhaps when they are finished, they will be better built to serve._

“Elder One,” she murmured. And _Samson._ She knew that name, recognized it as a Templar from _Tale of the Champion._ In this world, it was both likely and doubtful it could be the same man, but it hardly mattered. Cassandra copied parts of the letters onto another piece of paper, and folded them. She found a location for a meeting between the Lord Seeker and this Elder One, and took it with her as well.

 _Order of Fiery Promise_ , she thought, and nearly choked on her own bile. She almost asked herself how Lucius could _ever_ do a thing – but it did not surprise her, truly. He lusted for power beyond his station, desired a world that bowed to meet his own whims, cared not for the duty and honor set before him.

And he would sell their order to _monsters_ because…why? Cassandra hadn’t been aware Seekers were resistant to red lyrium, though in truth she’d never attempted to discover that fact. Shouldn’t they be like anyone else? Even _dwarves_ could succumb, she knew this.

Quickly, she returned things to their proper place on the Lord Seeker’s desk and left.

He departed later that next day. Cassandra stole away to the stables, wrapped in her travelling cloak, looking for her usual mount.

“Cassandra?” She turned, and Daniel stood there, leaning against the stable door. “Where are you running off to this time?”

“I…I must follow the Lord Seeker.”

“He asked for you to accompany him.”

“He…yes. He did.” The lie came easily.

“Can I come, too?”

Cassandra smiled. “No, my dear. Not this time.”

“Ah, but you’ll need a dashing young apprentice to keep you safe from, you know. Bears? I think. No idea where you’re going.” He sighed, kicking at the straw on the ground. “Well, in any case, travel safe, Cass.” He was the only person she allowed to shorten her name. He was a boy, of course he was allowed. “Heard we’re trying to make some kind of alliance. Make sure we get a good deal?”

“Of course,” she said, and wrapped him in her arms. “I certainly will.”

 

* * *

 

A Qunari comes to sit with her, one evening. He has great horns like a dragon, and a soft voice. He reads to her, but she isn’t sure why. Perhaps the Inquisitor has asked him to. Perhaps they are still trying to get information from her. They shouldn’t. What she has is useless, now. Corypheus will have altered his plans, and she was always expendable, from the very start.

The Qunari reads, though, and then leaves.

The next night, a Tevinter mage is there, bothered that the chains make her skin raw.

“I certainly don’t _like_ you,” he says. “But you shouldn’t _bleed_ to death up here.” He does something with the metal around her ankles and wrists before he goes to the door. He pauses. “You’ll never tell them where he is, will you?” He looks at her. She stares past him. “I suppose you might not even know.” He sighs, shaking his head and leaving her there.

The chains ache less, now.

 

* * *

 

Lucius discovered her the moment she arrived at the camp.

“I thought someone had mussed my desk.”

Cassandra swung off her horse, strode toward him, and slapped him across the face. He fell, and mud rose up in a tidal wave over her feet.

“How _dare_ you give us to them? _How dare you?_ ”

Lucius coughed, waving the others away when they bent to help him. “You are naïve, Cassandra.”

“And you are a fool.”

“They are _useless_ without the lyrium. No purpose.”

“No _purpose?_ What are we, then?”

Lucius stood, scowling. “Abominations. The cause of it all. We created solutions without thought to the consequences. Templars, the Circle. It was all for naught. Look at us now.”

“We are doing _good_ ,” she said. “If we would only go to the Conclave—”

“The _Conclave_ will do no good. If you knew what would transpire—”

“ _Lucius._ ”

A heavy shadow fell over them both. The voice that had spoken the Lord Seeker’s name both thrilled and terrified her. Cassandra peered up at the hulking form that blocked the sun and found herself silent.

 _Darkspawn_ , she thought, and nearly drew her blade.

“Who is this?” the thing asked.

“Nobody,” Lucius spat, turning to one of his men. “Get her out of my sight—”

“I asked you a question, Lucius. _Who_ is this?”

Lucius swallowed. “She is a Seeker,” he said. “Seeker Pentaghast.”

“Seeker _Pentaghast._ My, my. How…quaint.” The darkspawn looked at her and smiled. “And she does not agree with your plan?”

“She is of no importance to us,” Lucius said. “Take her away. Send her to the Conclave, if she so demands it—”

“I will not waste… _assets_.” The darkspawn gestured toward Cassandra. “Stay, my dear. Perhaps we will speak later.” He nodded and turned to go, traveling to the other side of the camp to speak with someone. A Templar, from the looks of it. The Templar looked up as the creature returned, and Cassandra caught his eye.

Her heart twinged, and his lips twitched at the sight of her.

 _Samson_ , she thought, and walked away from Lucius.

 

* * *

 

She is waiting for the Commander. She had woken this morning knowing he would come. Perhaps it is what Samson had taught her about him. Perhaps it is simply she has finally learned the steps of the Inquisition. These are new to her.

Cullen steps into her room, and does not sit.

And so Cassandra stands.

They face one another for quite some time before Cullen steps closer.

“I have been allowed here, because I promised to show you mercy, and patience.” He doesn’t look as though he agrees with the plan. “The Inquisitor is standing outside, should I…lose any of that.” He folds his arms behind his back. “Where is Samson?” he asks.

He is prey. Cassandra has learned how to feed. “I do not know.”

“ _You do_ ,” he says, voice trembling. “Why are you _protecting_ him? He wouldn’t do the same for you. He’d sell you to us if it meant saving his own skin.”

 _Oh, Commander_ , she wants to say. _Do you not remember him at all?_

“Where _is_ he?” A snarl. The door opens.

“Cullen, that’s enough.”

“I have been fair,” he insists.

“She won’t tell you. She won’t tell anyone.”

Cullen looks between them once before storming out of the room.

Evelyn looks at her sadly. “Why won’t you just say?”

 

* * *

 

That night, Cassandra was summoned from her tent. She followed a Templar toward a larger tent. Light glowed inside, and she heard the rumbling sound of the voice from earlier.

“Ah, there she is. Samson, get her a chair.” Samson nodded, offering his own seat and finding another. “Please, Seeker Pentaghast. Join us.”

Cassandra sat carefully, looking around. “Where is the Lord Seeker?”

“Asleep. He is not needed here. I understand that you are…not fond of the Order of Fiery Promise.”

“Whatever the Lord Seeker wishes to do, it is a mistake. The Seeker’s must be at the Conclave, they must—”

“Cassandra.” The thing spoke her name. Cassandra felt her blood chill. “You will not be going to the Conclave. Tonight, you and I are making a deal, and I believe you will be amicable to the terms.” He paused. “Why did you not stay with your Divine?”

“I…She asked me to be with the Seekers,” Cassandra said.

“I suspect she knows. It will matter not, once the Conclave is over. Nothing will matter, after that.” He paused. “Do you know who I am?” Cassandra swallowed and nodded. She had given it thought, and she knew. “Say it then, my dear.”

“You are Corypheus.”

“Yes.”

“You were slain by the Champion.”

The darkspawn chuckled. “She certainly did _try_ , didn’t she?”

“Do you…desire the Seekers?” Cassandra asked carefully.

“I did. But Lucius tells me they will be useless. One less Order will not hinder my progress.”

“The Seekers are far from useless,” she said. Her entire body screamed, fought the words coming out of her mouth.

All she could see was Daniel.

“The Order of Fiery Promise will destroy them.” She closed her eyes. “They could serve you now.”

“How?”

“Each Seeker possesses a unique ability.”

“Of this I am aware.”

“We are warriors. We serve.”

“You are loyal to your Chantry, to your Divine. You will never _be_ mine.”

Cassandra clenched her fists. “They can be. Call them to your side.” She exhaled. “I will make them yours.”

Corypheus leaned forward. “You do not believe in me.”

“No,” she said.

“But you…will serve me.”

She looked up, right into his eyes.

“If it means my Order…my _family_ survives this. Then…yes. I will serve you.”

 

* * *

 

Cassandra takes the tea the servant gives her. She takes the food. She takes what she is handed, now.

The dwarf returns.

“I…have something for you,” he says. He hands her a stack of papers. “It’s the next chapter of _Swords and Shields._ The Inquisitor thought you might want something else to read.”

Cassandra takes the papers, looking at him.

“I didn’t enjoy doing this,” he says, trying to sound calm.

She wishes he would shout.

She wishes he would explode.

She wishes he would leave.

 

* * *

 

When she heard of the Divine’s death, Cassandra did not weep. She had known the Conclave was to end in disaster, but to what extent, she could not be sure. She had thirty Seekers here with her at the encampment. Corypheus was to return, his power in hand.

Samson stepped close to her.

“You really did it,” he said.

“I did.”

“Pity Lucius had to die,” the Templar muttered, though he did not seem so sad.

“Yes,” she said. “Isn’t it?” Cassandra looked at the Seekers making their camp and turned to Samson. “This was the wrong choice.”

“There are no right choices in this. We are what we are. You saved them from what Lucius was planning. I’d say you did some good.”

“You could say that, but you’d be wrong.”

“Matter of opinion, Seeker Pentaghast.” He shrugged. “He’ll be back soon. We should be ready.”

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: weatheredlaw


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